Hymn to the Green Hour
by DarkRedWolf2012
Summary: Oliver sets out to apprehend a criminal who uses sound as his weapon. Meanwhile a perky prostitute named Barry is making everything a little harder than it should be. Series • Part 1 of Eternal Dissonance


HYMN TO THE GREEN HOUR

11 years ago

"Watch it," a gruff tenor growled as a pile of textbooks and sheet music fluttered to the floor. Two cronies flanking the senior laughed and kicked the pages as the strolled on down the hall.

The freshman that dropped the materials ducked his head in embarrassment, his cheeks flaming scarlet to match his bright red hair. He frantically scavenged for the pages as he hastily stacked them, of course out of order.

"Don't worry about them," a friendly voice assured the young freshman. The young man was beautiful; his shaggy blonde hair framed a pale face.

"Your voice," the freshman replied with a thick accent. He switched to his native tongue. "Russian?"

"Yes of course," the young man replied. "It is the best language after all. Leave it to Starling City to put two Russians in the same high school."

"I am Anton," the freshman stuck out a nervous hand.

"Pasha," the young man replied. "I think we are going to be good friends, Anton."

"As long as I don't get murdered by the likes of them," Anton grumbled nodding in the direction of the bullies who had knocked his materials out of his hand.

"I won't let them hurt you," Pasha flashed a smile. "Not even Oliver Queen."

Present day

"Hey you!" Someone called out from behind Oliver on the sidewalk. The night was both wet and cold, so Oliver did not feel particularly cheery. He kept walking; hoping that whoever was jogging behind him would leave him alone. "Hey I'm talking to you!"

At best he was a beggar asking for a few bucks, at worst he recognized the great Oliver Queen and he would want to have a conversation.

"What?" Oliver hissed.

"Geez, grumpy," the voice replied. It turned out to be a young man, a few years younger than Oliver's twenty-nine years. "I think you need to relax."

Oliver rolled his eyes. It turned out it could be worse, the kid was a hooker. "No thank you," Oliver groaned as he started walking again.

The kid, undeterred, began to stroll alongside Oliver. "Are you sure? Cause it really seems like you could use it. I promise, I'm worth it."

Oliver swallowed; hopefully the kid couldn't see it. Despite the kid's stunning good looks, innocent and wide-eyed, Oliver knew he would never – repeat, never – pay for sex from a streetwalker.

"You see I do this thing with my tongue…"

"Woah," Oliver held up a hand. "I am not interested. But if I give you twenty dollars will you please leave me alone?"

The kid shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

Oliver quickly forked over a twenty and took off again. He really regretted taking this walk. It was supposed to get his head straight, but the kid ruined the whole thing. Now he would need to patrol to get the kid off his mind.

"Hey Oli," Felicity's voice chirped in Oliver's earpiece. "What's on the docket for tonight?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Oliver replied. Muscle memory made his voice gruffer whenever he donned the green hood and quiver.

"Well there may be some commotion around…" Felicity's voice dropped out for a second. "Woah! Never mind! Something is happening at Satie Jewelry. Two blocks east of the Grell Museum."

"Copy, I'm nearby," Oliver replied as he jumped from one roof to the next and began to sprint.

"Their alarms began ringing thirty seconds ago. Possible robbery in progress."

Oliver leapt down a fire escape and ran out on to the empty street. Sure enough Satie Jewelry's front pane of glass was completely shattered. A man stepped out with jewelry hanging from his pockets and from a bag slung around his shoulder.

"Stop!" Oliver commanded as he nocked an arrow and took aim.

The thief turned, his face and head covered with a plain black mask, like a ninja. His left arm was held horizontally in front of him and his right hand lightly pressed on something. Before Oliver could react a piercing sound invaded his head. He felt excruciating pain and screamed out, "Felicity!"

Oliver watched in horror as two panels of black crept in from either side, making his vision tunnel before going completely black.

11 years ago

"Do you play music?" Pasha asked, eyeing the stack of sheet music beside Anton's lunch tray.

"Yes, piano," Anton nodded.

"That's good. Play the Russians, yes? Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Tchaikovsky?" Pasha prodded. Pasha was always the proud Russian.

Anton grinned. "I like Debussy."

Pasha mimed being shot in the heart. "Why do you do this to me, Anton. You wound me so!"

"Speak English freaks!" Oliver called out as he passed by their table. He kicked the leg of the table, which jostled Pasha and Anton's food. Anton just caught his stack of papers, saving it from yet another tumble to the ground.

Pasha looked ready to pounce, but he calmed when Anton shook his head slightly. "Just ignore him."

"He's such an ass," Pasha grumbled.

"He's American," Anton grinned once more. "Does not understand Russian Superiority."

Pasha's angry grimace faded and he chuckled. "Right you are, Anton."

Present day

Oliver thrashed as he woke, immediately on guard.

"Woah there buddy!" A familiar voice chuckled. "Take a chill pill, you took a spill." The voice laughed at his own rhyming.

Oliver could not see completely, only the faintest light made it through his eyes, but his other senses told him that he was not at the home base. "Where am I?" He grumbled.

"You're in my neck of the woods. I saw you on the street and lugged you into an alley so no one else would find you. Lucky I was here still. Maybe not so lucky for me," the voice replied.

Oliver felt like he could almost figure out whom the voice belonged to, but not quite. His lack of eyesight was unsettling though he felt as though it was slowly returning.

"Can you not see?" The voice asked?

"No," Oliver grunted.

"Well I'm stunning," the voice quipped.

At this Oliver recognized the voice. It seemed, impossibly, that he'd run into the streetwalker again.

"My name is Barry."

Oliver felt Barry try to touch him and he reeled back suddenly, shocked by the unexpected touch. He hit the bricks behind him hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

"I was just trying to say hi," Barry muttered.

"I need to get out of here," Oliver grumbled. He felt for his hood. It was still firmly on his head.

"Don't worry," Barry said. "I didn't peak. I figure you want this whole… thing to be private. I get it. I wouldn't want my dad finding out what I do. I respect the whole privacy thing."

"Because you're a hooker?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah," Barry chuckled. "How'd you know I was a hooker?"

Oliver silent cursed his slip up. He recovered as best he could. "You said you weren't lucky to still be out tonight. Meaning you didn't get a john."

"Nope," Barry's voice sounded unfazed. "Unusually quiet night for me. Well that is until the whole action on the street."

"What happened?" Oliver asked as more vision began to return.

"Well you came in all hero-y," Barry sounded unimpressed. "And you had the jewelry thief, but he pressed something on his arm and a terrible sound came out. I was pretty far away, plus I had headphones, but you were right in the center of it and you went down like a sack of flour."

Oliver nodded. It was coming back to him.

"Where are the cops?" Oliver asked.

"They came and set up shop. I dragged you far enough away from the scene."

Oliver reached for his quiver and grabbed an arrow.

"Woah man! I swear I didn't look," Barry said. Oliver could see him now. Barry had his hands up in surrender as he stepped back. "You don't have to kill me." Oliver almost chuckled. Barry wasn't begging, he was still trying to be funny.

Oliver shot the arrow past Barry and up so it lodged on the edge of the rooftop above Barry. He shot up into the air and out of the alley.

As he flew away he heard Barry call out from below, "Yeah don't thank me or anything! It was nothing!"

"Are you okay?" Felicity nearly shrieked as she wrapped her arms around Oliver. Her hands groped as she searched for any wounds.

"I'm fine Felicity," Oliver hissed as he stepped back. "Ran into a little trouble. That's all."

"Dig, he's back," Felicity said into her phone before tossing it back down beside her computer. "Does the other guy look worse?"

"No," Oliver groaned. "I didn't even get an arrow in."

Felicity hummed. "That's not like you."

"He had… something. It was on his arm. It made a sound that made me blackout."

"Sonic weaponry?" Felicity's demeanor flipped like a switch as she sat on her throne before her trio of screens. "That's new. I mean I've heard of it used as piracy deterrent or crowd control, but never enough to make you blackout."

Oliver grunted.

"Wait you blacked out?" Felicity whirled in her chair as if she'd just realized what he said. "Who helped you?"

"Someone saw and helped, don't worry, they don't know who I am," Oliver predicted the barrage of questions. That would have been the first.

Felicity sighed. "Good."

Felicity returned to the computer and began to pour through results. At that moment Diggle came storming in. "You're good?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded.

"I found something," Felicity interrupted their terse reunion. "Anton Allegro, he was a weapons manufacturer in Starling City. He primarily specialized in sonic weaponry for SCPD and for the military complex."

"Why the past tense?" Dig asked.

"Well let's see," Felicity read further. "Oh…"

"What?" Oliver asked impatient.

"He lost his hearing two years ago during a rescue mission of the one and only Starling City Vigilante."

"He lost his hearing?" Dig questioned.

"It says here that he was a hostage and one of the Vigilante's exploding arrows caused aural distress and led to him losing his hearing."

Oliver's face softened. "I did it?"

"Hey man, you can't blame yourself," Dig tried.

"Let's just move on," Oliver swatted at Dig's attempt to make him feel better. "Where can I find him?"

"I have an address," Felicity nodded.

"No Felicity!" Oliver grumbled into his phone. "That's not enough, we need to find him. He wasn't there." Oliver ruffled his short, blonde hair in frustration as he stomped along the sidewalk.

"I know you're trying. I just need more," Oliver sighed. "Yeah, I understand. I'm sorry Felicity. You're right." Great, now he was in the Felicity Smoak doghouse.

"Felicity?" Oliver asked but he knew it was too late; she had hung up on him.

"Trouble with the misses?" An all too familiar voice asked.

"Not you again," Oliver grumbled as he turned to face Barry yet again.

"Hey, you're the one that keeps walking into my territory. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were looking for something," Barry ambled up along side Oliver, perhaps a bit too close.

"I just needed some fresh air."

"What'd you do? Cheat? Get her pregnant?" Barry asked. "Cause whatever it is I can take your mind off of it."

Oliver hated that Barry's persistence was slowly morphing into heat in his nether regions. "No, we're not together, we just… work together."

"Ah," Barry replied as if that explained everything.

"So you know I'm not interested, you might as well bother someone else," Oliver tried to rid himself of Barry.

"Well last time you paid me."

"I'm not paying you twenty dollars to leave me alone again," Oliver replied, deadpan.

"You're right, you're paying me eighty," Barry grinned.

"What?" Oliver actually laughed at that.

"Eighty bucks and I leave you alone," Barry replied confidently. "But hey, eighty will get you something else if you'd rather."

Oliver swallowed by didn't reply. His resolve was dwindling.

"It'll get you a nice, long," Barry held the suspense, "blowjob."

"Jesus," Oliver groaned as Barry pushed further into Oliver's personal space.

"A really, really good one," Barry pressed.

"Not interested," Oliver tried, though his tone was anything but uninterested.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, just some fun between two guys. A transaction if you will," Barry continued.

"No means no," Oliver grunted.

"It does, but you haven't actually said no," Barry quipped. Oliver had in every other sense but Barry was right.

"No, Barry, I don't want a blowjob from you. Happy?" Oliver stepped closer and mashed a couple bills into Barry's hand. The kid might be annoying, but he looked like he really needed to eat something, so Oliver figured he'd give him a few bucks.

Barry took the bills with a concern face. "That's interesting."

"That I have to keep paying you to leave me alone? It's not interesting, it's blackmail."

"No not that," Barry said looking down at the money as if he just noticed it was there. "No, it's interesting that you know my name. I never told you my name…"

11 years ago

"So passionate," Pasha cheered as he clapped wildly. Anton had just finished Visions Fugitive by Prokofiev, a Russian work he'd prepared just for Pasha. "You play music so well!"

"Thank you Pasha," Anton blushed as he whirled around on the piano bench and faced his friend. Anton's family never could afford a piano, so he practiced and performed at a local piano warehouse. They let people try out pianos and Anton had been going there for years. The staff welcomed him as part of the family.

A few people looking around at pianos had stopped and listened to Anton's impressive display.

"Is this piano good?" A middle-aged woman asked, her daughter in pigtails clutching her leg.

"Yes," Anton said with a heavy accent. "It is wonderful." He played a quick melody for the woman.

"It sounds beautiful," she responded.

Anton smiled and gestured for the young girl to join him at the piano bench. Following some prodding from her mother the girl cautiously stepped up and sat next to Anton. His English was never really good enough when he talked to young kids, especially the ones who couldn't understand his accent, but music to him was a language all of its own.

He played a small melody in front of the girl and motioned for her to give it a try. After a few fumbled attempts she managed to play through it.

"Together," Anton said and began to nod in time. He played an accompaniment to the melody he taught the girl. Soon they were performing Anton's composition for a few more patrons. When they finished applause broke out like he was Evgeny Kissin.

The little girl curtsied and Anton bowed. The piano salesman, like a vulture, swooped in and Anton could hear him finishing the sale.

"They should pay you for that," Pasha grumbled. He seemed to be the only person in the room not moved by the performance. "You did all the sales work."

"They pay me enough. Without these pianos I would never be able to play," Anton responded. He was getting used to Pasha's overprotectiveness.

Pasha nodded, but looked none too pleased by Anton's response. "You will be famous some day."

Present day

"I found something," Felicity said without so much as a hello. She hadn't even turned to look at Oliver as he strode into the basement of Verdant.

"Anton?" Oliver leapt into Arrow mode, it was the best way to ignore his slip up with the ever present Barry.

"No, his weapon," Felicity dragged files in front of her until she revealed a picture. It was a close up of the forearm of a man. On the arm was a piano of sorts. Ridges of black were arranged in the shape and organization of piano keys.

"What is this?"

"Anton's life work," Felicity replied as she pulled up schematics. "He first developed the prototype at age sixteen. Apparently this is what caught the attention of Starling City's finest. They took him on as a contractor developing sonic weaponry for riot control. The Anton Synthesizer," Felicity pointed at the picture. "Was deemed too dangerous for riot control and they discontinued production after the prototype."

"This is great, Felicity, but I need a way to find him," Oliver grimaced.

"I might have something on that front too," Felicity whirled in her seat to one of the flanking computer screens. "The jewelry that you saw Anton steal has already gone on the black market."

"And?"

"And it turns out this particular seller is rather inept at hiding secret identities, not of his clients per say," Felicity hinted. "But himself…"

"So you're saying you know where the seller is?"

"Address, date of birth, cell phone number, and the last time he used a public bathroom," Felicity gloated.

"Let's start with the address."

"Anton Allegro, where can I find him?" Oliver shouted, one arrow tip pointing directly at the eye of Griever, the black market dealer.

"W-who?" Griever stuttered.

"The Russian who sold the Satie Jewelry!"

"I don't have an address for him," the man cowered uselessly.

"That's not good Griever," Oliver pressed, the arrow point inched closer. "Don't give me answers I don't like."

"Okay!" Griever caved. "I'll tell you where he is."

11 years ago

Pasha glanced to the back of the recital hall. Anton's recital was moments from starting. The piano warehouse hosted it, probably in an effort to hock their new pianos at the rich snobs of Starling City. Pasha was disgusted by the warehouse and how it used Anton without paying him.

What disgusted Pasha more was the fact that three boys had entered the back of the hall and Pasha knew there would be trouble. He lifted himself out of his seat and stormed to the back, his shaggy blonde hair shaking with each stomp of his feet. He was bulky, thanks to his Russian genes and his older brother's training regimen, but even Pasha could not take down these three goons.

"What are you doing here, Queen?" Pasha growled, he knew Oliver was the leader of this pack.

"Hey there Pashy," Oliver grinned. He tried to ruffle Pasha's hair but Pasha ducked away immediately.

"It's Pasha," Pasha hissed. "What are you doing here? You're just here to cause trouble."

"What?" Oliver mocked hurt. "Maybe the Queen family just wants to invest in a Steinway!"

"Fuck you," Pasha interrupted. "Get out, I won't let you ruin this for Anton."

"We won't ruin anything," Oliver teased, the glint in his eye suggested that was nowhere near true.

Before Pasha could respond Anton took the stage and the audience applauded. Anton, dressed in his best suit, which was far from nice or even in tact, took a seat at the piano and began to play.

Pasha watched in amazement as Anton lost himself in the music. Debussy's Clair de Lune floated the through the audience in a delicate, aural display that enraptured everyone. Almost everyone…

"Play Freebird!" Oliver shouted from behind Pasha. The interruption through Anton off and he struck a wrong note before freezing. After having been so violently interrupted from his reverie, it seemed Anton couldn't find the notes to press on.

Pasha filled with rage in seconds. He leapt over the cheap folding chair that separated he and Oliver. Oliver laughed while the rest of the audience gasped or screamed in shock. Pasha wasn't paying attention to anyone else. It took two employees of the piano warehouse and Anton to pull Pasha off Oliver.

Oliver painted a face of innocence and shock at being attacked.

"Anton, you and your friend must leave at once," the owner of the warehouse exclaimed in his haughty and authoritative voice.

"But…" Anton tried.

"Now!" The owner interrupted.

Pasha overheard Oliver speaking with the owner. "He just attacked me! I just wanted to buy a piano."

"I do apologize Mr. Queen," the owner replied. Pasha swallowed the bile that rose from the blatant lies Queen was spewing. But he had something else to focus on. Anton looked stricken. His one passion had just been forcibly taken away from him, and it was all Pasha's fault.

Present day

Somehow Oliver's resolve had completely dissolved because again he found himself out at night strolling the sidewalks so often patrolled by Barry. This made twice in one night for Oliver.

"Change your mind then?" Barry asked from behind Oliver. It concerned Oliver how often the kid snuck up on him.

"About?" Oliver played dumb.

"My offer," Barry wiggled his eyebrows. "I don't know who your are, but you apparently know me. From a different time and undoubtedly different place. Maybe I can show you a good time and then you can tell me how you know my real name."

"Real name?"

"Barry is my real name." Barry replied. "I tell johns my name is Grant."

Oliver nodded. He didn't like the mention of johns, it made him feel slimy and gross. Then again he was seriously considering picking up a hooker, so he was kind of all of those things.

"Where do you take johns?" Oliver asked, trying for noncommittal.

"Well I don't take them home. Because home is a one bedroom studio with another guy, another girl, and our pimp."

"You have a pimp?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"Not so much a pimp, more like a hooker daddy."

Oliver shook his head. "I don't want to know."

"Most people don't want to know. They don't want to know just how depressing a little hooker in the big city can be," Barry sighed and kicked some pebble with his scuffed and torn converse sneakers.

"You're trying to play me. Guilt me into taking you up on your offer," Oliver accused.

"Is it working?" Barry smirked.

Oliver sighed, "Let's go."

Barry whistled as Oliver led him into the foyer of the Queen Mansion. "Nice digs!"

"Thanks," Oliver mumbled. His face was hot with embarrassment. He hadn't been thinking. He knew he should have taken Barry to a seedy motel, but somehow his legs had just carried him home.

Barry ran a careful hand over the leather sofa Oliver had so often crashed on after a night of rough patrolling. Barry had cultivated an aura of the cool and collected hooker in the know, but Oliver felt like for the first time since meeting he was seeing a glint of the real Barry behind the hooker. The kid's eyes twinkled with amazement at the enormous house and the lavish beauty of everything inside.

"What?" Oliver mused. "The other johns don't have this kind of money?"

"Wouldn't know," Barry shrugged as he looked up the grand staircase that leads to the bedrooms. "Never been to a john's house. It's always seedy motels or wet back alleys."

Oliver grimaced. It hadn't really been the answer he was expecting but he knew he should have.

"So," Barry's grin turned to a half smirk. It read completely fake to Oliver, who was used to reading people, albeit people who were facing a razor sharp arrowhead. "What's on for tonight?"

"What?" Oliver was still a bit thrown by the whole situation he'd caught himself in.

"It's eighty for a blow job, one-fifty for anal…"

Jesus these were prices for Barry's body.

"Rough stuff is extra, I just ask that you don't leave any marks on my face…"

"What?" Oliver interrupted. "Barry, you let johns hit you?"

Barry smile turned a bit sad. "I let guys do a lot worse to me," Barry admitted. "Gotta make a living some how."

"Yeah but…"

"We're not here to talk about my employment portfolio," Barry waved off Oliver's concern. "We are here to make you feel good. Now pick something or I'm going to have to leave because I have to make something tonight."

Oliver shifted nervously. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't turned on; in fact the listing had killed any bit of mood Oliver had been feeling. But the pull of Barry's beautiful smile made Oliver want him.

"Okay, if you're just going to stare at me creepily, then I'm just going to go," Barry said as he started towards the door.

"How about a movie?" Oliver blurted out before Barry could leave.

"What?" Barry raised a questioning eyebrow.

Oliver huffed. "We could… watch a movie?"

"You want to pay a hooker to watch a movie with you?"

"Um," Oliver shifted nervously. "Yes?"

Barry looked around the room, as if he thought he was on some sort of hidden camera television show. He had lost the cocky, smart-ass vibe and replaced it with a legitimately nervous one. Like perhaps Oliver was planning on killing him.

"Just a movie, I promise," Oliver nearly begged. Had he lost all of his millionaire playboy charm? What was this kid doing to him?

"Okay," Barry replied. "Two hundred."

"To watch a movie?" Oliver gawked.

"You're paying for my time. I could easily service three…"

"Okay," Oliver interrupted Barry, waving off the rest of that thought so he didn't have to think about Barry… servicing… other guys.

"I pick the movie," Barry continued to haggle.

"Deal."

The level of sloppiness Oliver was exuding was beginning to worry him. He had awoken on his brown leather couch, a light afghan blanket draped over his body and the Elizabethtown DVD title menu running on repeat. Fucking Elizabethtown, why did he even own that movie? He hated it. And somehow Barry could tell, Oliver was sure that's why Barry picked it.

He shut off the TV with a hard push of a button on the clicker and threw it down on the couch. He had left his wallet on the counter next to the door. He saw it and strode over. Just as he thought all of the cash was gone. Even though he'd already paid Barry before the movie (as per Barry's request… or rules) Barry saw it to empty his wallet.

"God, what else did he steal?" Oliver muttered to himself. He had been so tired, more tired than he'd felt in a long time. The only sleep he'd had before falling asleep on the couch had been when he'd blacked out, and for some reason he didn't think that that particular sleep was very restful.

Before Oliver could go looking around for the rest of his valuables, his phone chirped and Felicity's face flashed on the screen.

"What did Griever say?" Felicity said before Oliver could say hello.

"Uh," Oliver had to think back to the interrogation. "He gave me an address, but Anton had already booked it."

"Facial recognition software has picked up Anton outside of a small food mart downtown."

"It's day time," Oliver groaned. He hated trying for heroics during the day.

After ten minutes of driving his bike, weaving in and out of traffic, Oliver found himself perched on top of a building, dressed as the Arrow and watching Anton Allegro. The man carried a small bag of groceries with him and nothing else.

Sure enough it seemed Griever's information was wrong, because Anton Allegro did not go back to the apartment Oliver had checked before. Instead he resided in a housing project that looked nearly empty and likely to collapse at any minute.

Oliver leapt into the building and dodge through dark, dank halls up to Anton's door. He busted down the door and nocked an arrow.

"Anton Allegro!" The man didn't turn. It was then that Oliver remembered that Anton was deaf. Deaf by the hands of the Arrow.

It seems the movement behind Anton was enough to catch his attention. He turned and stared into Oliver's eyes. Anton's face morphed into an expression of pure hatred and disgust. Oliver never saw Anton's hand move, but the sound began to pierce his ears again and Oliver cursed himself for not preparing for this. Barry had really thrown him off his game.

Anton silently walked up to Oliver who had crouched in pain and misery from the sound. Anton's face shown more emotion than any monologue could produce. The hatred and anger read loud and clear but accompanying it was pity. No doubt Anton knew the pain Oliver was going through was excruciating, even if he could no longer hear it himself.

Staring into the eyes of the man, Oliver felt fear well up in him as Anton slowly reached down and pulled the hood back from Oliver's head.

Recognition flashed across Anton's face and the anger that had read so clear before raged brighter than Oliver had ever seen on any man.

9 years ago

Pasha watched as men in suits began to take Anton away.

"Wait!" Pasha shouted. "He can't speak English. He needs me."

"What are you doing, Pasha?" Anton replied in Russian. "You know I can."

"I don't want to lose you to these men. They just want to use your intelligence for their weapon designs," Pasha pleaded. "That's not you."

"Pasha, you lost me long ago," Anton replied in English this time, destroying any façade Pasha was trying to create. "This is me now."

Pasha knelt on the cold floor and cried as the dark sedan pulled away and he watched his friend leave him.

Present day

Oliver woke to a familiar cold table beneath him. He'd opened his eyes to this ceiling many times. He was at the hideout.

"Oh," Oliver groaned.

"He's up," Felicity said beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Worse," Oliver felt as though he was going to throw up. "This was worse."

"You went in half-cocked with no plan. Luckily Roy and Dig were hot on your tail. They were prepared," Felicity scolded.

"Did they get Anton?"

"No," Roy said from his other side. "He left when we showed up. Don't know how he knew we were coming, even if we did make a noise he wouldn't have heard it."

"But now he knows we have plugs that counter his weapon," Felicity said.

"Meaning?" Oliver half-groaned as he sat up. Anton must have wailed on his chest a bit.

"Meaning he might try to attack you when you're not the Arrow. When you're not prepared."

Oliver gulped.

"You didn't have your hood on when we showed up," Roy clarified. "He must know who you are."

"He does," Oliver rubbed his eyes with his palms. "And I think it gets worse."

"How can it get worse?" Roy asked.

"Felicity, look up Anton's information again. Where did he attend high school?"

"Let's see…. Oh…" Felicity said.

"Yeah that's what I was afraid of. I recognized him. And he recognized me," Oliver nodded.

"What's going on?" Roy asked clearly annoyed.

"We went to high school together," Oliver said. "And I ruined his life."

"Twice," Felicity added humorlessly.

"Hey you," Barry said. He was waiting on Oliver's front doorstep.

"Barry," Oliver groaned. "Not now."

"Not in the mood?" Barry frowned jokingly.

"Not in the slightest," Oliver said trying to push past the young man.

"Oliver," Barry said.

Oliver stopped. "I never told you my name."

Barry sighed. "I know you didn't. But you're Oliver Queen. Come on."

"What do you want?" Oliver felt annoyed at the prospect of blackmail from a hooker he didn't even sleep with.

Barry held up his hands. "Don't worry. Nothing shady. It's just…"

Barry seemed to think deeply for a moment.

"It's just that something has been bothering me."

"What Barry?" Oliver rolled his eyes. "Make this quick."

"I'm from Central City," Barry started. It sounded as though this would be anything but quick. "I would have remembered if I had met the great Oliver Queen. As for Starling City there are only three people who know my name as Barry. And those three people live with me in my apartment."

"Okay," Oliver shrugged, his mind was not at ease so he had not truly followed the train of thought Barry had laid out.

"Before meeting you I told one other person my real name," Barry said. "The Vigilante."

Oliver froze. He had thought he had dodged this particular bullet before, but he should have known that the ever-vigilant Barry would not have so easily let it go.

"What are you saying?"

Barry sighed and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Listen, I know that you can probably kill me with one hand tied behind your back. I don't doubt that. But just know that your… skills are not what will keep me silent. I know what it's like to have a secret. I mean look at me," Barry motioned to his body, clothes tattered yet revealing so people knew just what he was and what they would be paying for. "I have secrets. I have done things I never want anyone to know."

Barry's eyes lost all humor. The kid had totally changed in a matter of seconds.

"I lost everything," Barry said, his throat choking a bit. "I came here for a new life and things only got worse. But that night, the night I saved you on the street, I felt like something was different. I finally felt… like I meant something. I know it's ridiculous. I didn't even really save you. I just dragged your body into an alley, but that night I felt more than just an object."

Oliver sighed, his eyes frowning empathetically.

"It's stupid," Barry sniffled. "But you saved my life. You made me feel something again. You made me feel hope. So that's the reason I'm going to keep your secret."

"Barry," Oliver whispered as reached out to touch the kid. Barry dodged the touch and quickly bounded down the front steps and jogged away from the mansion.

Oliver wanted so badly to follow him, but he couldn't. He had bigger problems to deal with first.

"So what, am I supposed to just wait him out until he hunts me down?" Oliver asked into the phone. He had stayed in his home all day for fear that Anton would try and find him. He figured it would be best to fight on home turf where no one else could get hurt.

"Oliver, it's just a good idea…" Dig started to say.

Felicity interrupted before he could finish. "Oliver we just got a message."

"A message?"

"Anton is clearly a genius. Seems he's pretty tech savvy," Felicity sounded a little annoyed that another tech nerd broke through her defenses.

"What does it say?" Oliver asked.

"Bay Street Warehouse, 10PM," Felicity read. "And then it just says Barry is a nice kid."

Oliver felt his insides somersault. Anton had Barry.

"Can you hear me?" Felicity tested. Oliver wore a special pair of earpieces that allowed for communication with Felicity while still blocking out the sonic weaponry Anton possessed.

"Yes Felicity," Oliver replied in his gruffest vigilante voice.

Felicity had found a tracer on Oliver. Apparently Anton had managed to slip it on him when he was incapacitated. It had a microphone that had been recording everything Oliver and Barry had said. It made Oliver sick to know that Barry's secret had been spilt then.

"I'm going in," Oliver said as he pushed into the warehouse, his bow at the ready.

"Be careful," Felicity cringed.

Oliver snaked through hallways lined with rusted pipes and aged walls. The faint sound of piano music could be heard. Oliver had not choice but to follow it.

Oliver came into a large room empty save for a chair with Barry tied and his mouth duct taped. Behind Barry stood Anton, dressed in the same gear he had worn the night Oliver attempted to foil the Satie Jewelry heist. His mask was pulled high up on his face.

"It's Clair de Lune," Anton said, his accent Russian and thick. He pulled at the mask and removed the black hood.

"You're not…" Oliver started.

"Anton?" The man replied. "No I'm not Anton. My name is Pasha."

Oliver nearly gasped at the revelation. He'd forgotten about Pasha. In the mess of his memories he had long since attempted to forget the Russians he had bullied in high school. In the years following it seemed the two of them had forged into one in his memory.

That's how he knew Barry's name, he had been listening in. Anton could not have done it. He had called out to him when he was robbing Satie Jewelry and the man had heard him. It had never been Anton. It was always Pasha.

"But I…" Oliver started when he remember his confrontation with Anton. The real Anton. "I saw Anton."

"Don't you dare speak his name!" Pasha lashed out. Barry winced at the sudden anger. Clearly the kid was terrified.

"Anton Allegro has lost everything and it is all your fault," Pasha started. "I didn't think the Vigilante would track him down, but little did I know the resources you had at your disposal. When I saw you following him, I positioned myself outside his window and played the sound."

Oliver winced at the memory of Anton's look of shock and anger when he saw Oliver on his knees before him.

"Imagine my surprise to see that the Vigilante and Oliver Queen are one and the same. It was too poetic. Your friends were prepared and I chose my battles. But Anton put the tracker on you. He promised me he would do that much."

"Just tell me what you want!" Oliver ordered with an angry growl.

"I want you… to suffer," Pasha grinned. "But I will give you a choice." Oliver kept his arrow aimed directly at Pasha, but it seemed to have no effect on the man.

"I have these," he held up earplugs. "They are for your… friend. Barry is it?"

Barry whined at the mention of his name.

"I will put these in his ears and protect him. But only if you take yours out. In one minute the sound will start to play. One of you will feel the force."

Oliver had no plan working in his head. Barry's presence seemed to cloud his judgment. The nagging feeling of karma coming full circle didn't seem to help either. Oliver felt himself beginning to consider this suffering as a trial, as something he deserved for his past.

"You better choose."

"Him," Oliver said immediately. Barry shook his head wildly. "Give Barry the earplugs."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Pasha grinned.

Oliver lowered his bow and carefully took the earplugs out. Barry continued to thrash. Clearly he felt guilty for what was going to happen.

Suddenly the sound was back and if possible, louder than ever. Oliver dropped his bow and crumpled to the ground. The excruciating pain beginning to invade his other senses. He took one final look up at Barry. Barry's eyes were wide with fear and he seemed to be trying to gesture behind Oliver.

The pain became too much and Oliver could not muster the strength to look behind him. An arrow shot past his head and pierced Pasha's heart.

Pasha looked shocked. He stood for a moment, dumbfounded with blood trickling from his chest before he fell to his knees and crumpled to the cold warehouse floor. The sound cut off and Oliver gasped with relief.

"Are you… okay," a labored voice asked quietly. Oliver managed to turn and face his savior.

"Anton?" Oliver asked, breathless.

"I am sorry, Oliver," Anton continued. He seemed to struggle with each word. "I let this go too far."

Anton dropped Oliver's bow and arrow to the ground with a clatter. He took one final look at Oliver, who was still on his hands and knees trying to recover. Then his gaze fell on the lifeless body of Pasha Gorki. Finally Anton turned and left without another word.

1 year ago

"Pavel," Alexander Gorki growled. "Is that him?"

Pasha swallowed his disgust at being called 'Pavel.' His brother was the only person who got away with calling him by his true first name.

"Yes." Anton had just left his apartment and was walking down the street.

"We found him. Now get me his weapon," Alexander ordered.

Present day

"Hey you," Barry said quietly.

"Hey," Oliver replied soberly. For the first time he had sought Barry out on that street corner. "How are you?" They hadn't spoken since the night before. Oliver felt awkward.

Barry seemed content to ignore Oliver's question. He sighed and looked up at the sky, twilight had just claimed the sun's brightness but no stars yet shown.

"It's the blue hour," Barry said.

Oliver couldn't help but roll his eyes. Barry always had to be difficult. "The what?"

"The blue hour. When the sun's gone down but it's not really night. Everything is just…"

"Blue," Oliver finished, looking up at the sky with Barry.

"Yeah," Barry replied. When Oliver looked back Barry was staring directly at him.

"Thank you, for saving me," Barry said. "Again."

Oliver nodded. "Always."

Oliver leaned down and placed one hand carefully on Barry's cheek. Slowly the two inched closer until their lips touched. Oliver reveled in the feeling of the warm lips on his, kissing a soft and subtle kiss.

"That was a freebie," Barry smiled after recovering from the moment. "I'll see you around Arrow Man."

"Don't call me that…"

Anton watched silently as Alexander Gorki kicked down the door to Anton's apartment. Anton sat and waited for this moment. Alexander stepped up and pulled a handgun out his jacket.

Anton nodded silently and closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He had killed Pasha in defense of Oliver Queen, the American. It was time for him to pay the price.

BLAM!

"Next," Alexander growled standing over the dead and bleeding body. "I kill the Arrow."


End file.
